“My…. look how healthy this one is! The little guy just keeps running and running. I think he’s the best of the lot. Never seen a rooster with so much energy. He’s prefect. I’ll take him.” Granny looks over at Junior. ” Junior, go fetch ’em. Bring him back and we’ll get him fixed up at home.”
Granny takes her cane out of the chain link fence that holds the birds for sale. Her burlap bag half filled with fresh vegetables from the market. The fairgrounds are a mix of crumbling stands and beat up outbuildings. Years of paint have fallen off each piece of plaster, each cinder block, every steel face. The air is heavy with decay. Few healthy smells eminate from these places.
Her eighty six year old frame looks brittle. Her curled hands fit the cane top like a glove. The bones of the legs have a lunge as she moves forward. If you saw her from the waist up it would appear she rode waves on a sea. But this is a healthy elderly woman. She guides the family through every storm. Her velvet glove hides an iron fist.
The adjective healthy embodies the life.